


She's Fixing Her Hair

by BrilliantlyHorrid



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: BAMF Skye, F/M, Fun with comics, Implied Simmorse, Important haircuts, Phil Coulson likes powerful women, Simmons also likes powerful women, Skye | Daisy Johnson-centric, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/pseuds/BrilliantlyHorrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an unfortunate encounter with an Inhuman bird (because those exist,) Skye has to make a fairly drastic change to her appearance. While she comes to terms with it, Coulson is the one who truly begins to struggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Fixing Her Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Just some silly fluff based around Coulson's thing for powerful women and another potential "transformation" in Skye's future. Some lines (two, really,) grabbed from the comics.

Coulson tapped his fingers against the desk.

He looked at his watch.

He looked up at the monitor.

Back at his watch.

He sighed.

Finally, there was a knock on his door. “Come in,” he called, standing up. It was Simmons.

“I’m sorry about the delay Sir, we had to scramble a bit once everyone arrived back on the base,” she explained, swiftly moving toward his desk, dropping a folder in his hands. “The substance emitted by the creature does in fact corrode metal, plastic, cloth, you name it.”

A toxic sludge-spitting bird was not exactly something they had anticipated when taking on the Inhuman project, particularly since he’d expected they would all be...well, some sort of human.

“Did anyone get hit?” He asked, taking a quick look at Simmons’ preliminary notes. Communication had been scarce since the situation escalated; Skye had reported that the bird-like creature seemed to be spitting some sort of acid that was melting through the cockpit of the ship before he heard an alarming shriek and hiss. From the sound, he assumed her walkie was destroyed.

Simmons seemed to understand immediately. “Skye is fine, we think.” At his raised eyebrow she shook her head, “I mean, we’re fairly sure-- the strange thing is, the liquid only dissolves inorganic material,” she explained.

“So, what, this one is some kind of environmentalist?”

Simmons gave him a small smile that was probably too generous.

He sighed. “Well, no effects upon contact with humans then? That’s good, right?”

Jemma’s smile waned a bit, and Coulson felt the alarm creep in. “Simmons?”

“No, no, everything should be fine, we just-- I should keep her for a little bit, make sure there really are _no_ ill effects.” The scientist was acting a bit shifty, but she’d had about as nerve wracking a morning as him, so Coulson didn’t want to be too aggressive.

“When you’ve given Skye the all-clear, send her up to see me,” he instructed.

“Well, Sir, you know that extensive testing can be rather annoying, perhaps we should let Skye get some rest after--”

“I won’t take up too much of her time,” Coulson reassured her, in a way that left zero room open for interpretation. It was an odd instinct, but Coulson wasn’t sure if he should be concerned that Simmons was keeping something from him, or offended that she presumed Skye wouldn’t want to see him.

***

Skye was skulking down the hall, as if heading to her doom, when really it was much worse. Okay, she was being dramatic, but really all she wanted was some time alone to process. Was that so much to ask? Running a hand over the back of her head, she winced.

‘ _Oh dear_ ,’ Simmons had said, _‘let me take a look._ ’

Really, she was lucky. She’d dropped the walkie as soon as the corrosive liquid made contact, and didn’t get any on her face. But the heavy drops of it hitting her hair as she spun away, she could _definitely_ feel those. And the ones beginning to melt through her clothes. Focusing first on knocking the stupid bird out and reassuring his young owner that everything would be okay, Skye almost forgot about her hair.

Until Hunter’s eyes widened and he gaped, silently.

‘ _Maybe she can make it like yours_ ,’ he said to Mack upon their return, who whapped him over the head with a heavy roll of blueprints. Skye knew she liked him.

‘ _You’ll be fine, Tremors_ ,’ he told her, nodding his head to Bobbi. ‘ _You’re in good hands_.’

As she ran her fingers through her hair (and tried not to cry at the thought of how quickly she reached the ends,) Skye trod up the stairs to Coulson’s office. Bracing herself, she knocked.

“Come in,” Coulson called, and she resisted the urge to touch her hair again before opening the door.

“Hey,” she said, looking over at the director, who seemed absorbed in something at his desk.

“Skye,” he answered, reading something through before looking up. “How’s--”

He stopped.

Coulson’s eye’s narrowed a bit, as if he wasn’t sure if it was an illusion or real. They widened just a tad before he was able to assume a neutral expression.

“You--” He gestured up at his own head, still apparently caught off guard.

Which did not make Skye feel any better about the drastic change. “Yeah,” she sighed, finding herself messing with it again. She had been able to keep some decent bangs, which was nice, but it was still shorter than she could ever remember having it. Her neck felt so bare. “Apparently Big Bird’s spit doesn’t melt hair, it was just basically the space monster equivalent of putting gum in it. So we had to,” she made a snip snip motion with her fingers, and Coulson actually grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” he said plainly, but she waved it away. He kept staring at her kind of funny, like he couldn’t figure out where her hair actually went.

_Or maybe he just hates it._

Flopping into the chair across from his desk, Skye sighed. “I mean, it’s practical, right? Maintenance time will definitely go way down.”

Coulson shrugged. It now looked like he was deliberately trying not to look at it, staring at the file in front of him, out the window, at her legs hanging over the arm of the chair. She knew he hated that, but she had a rough day, sue her.

“Have you always kept your hair long?” He asked, and Skye stared at him for a second, incredulous.

_He can’t actually care about that, can he?_

But Coulson just looked back at her, genuinely curious it seemed.

“Ah, yeah. Well-- back at St. Agnes they used to cut our hair short. These terrible bowl cuts basically, we all hated them. When we got older we used to joke that they actually wanted to keep us around, making us look hideous so no one would want us,” she laughed dryly. “When I got out I _never_ cut it. Probably would have made things easier during my van days, but…” She shrugged. She liked having a say in her appearance, not letting someone else tell her how she should look. Her hair was one of the first things she had been given power over, the first way she began to really take care of herself after getting out. So she did. She may have lived in a van, out of cheap motel rooms and rest stops when necessary, but Skye took pride in keeping her hair healthy and clean when she could. It could come in surprisingly handy.

She of course made some changes once they arrived at the Playground; a cathartic haircut was long overdue. But there were times she missed those long waves. They were somehow both innocuous _and_ eye catching; able to help her blend in or stand out, depending on whether she hid behind them or tossed them over her shoulder.

 _Now_ …

“It will grow back,” Coulson said. Not condescendingly, like she had been complaining, but matter of fact. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Hair grows. “So Simmons did it?”

Skye shook her head rapidly. “Bobbi, actually. Simmons is a fan though,” she recalled smirking just slightly. She had thought poor Jemma was flustered out of concern, worried that Skye would have a meltdown upon seeing the “big reveal.” But, as it turned out, she just liked it.

‘ _Well, that’s,’_ she had said, tilting her head a bit, ‘ _very nice, isn’t it?_ ’

She _really_ liked it.

Looking in the mirror Bobbi had handed her, Skye supposed it wasn’t terrible. Just different. Made her almost look like a different person. Like the rebellious type of girl she’d met in a foster home or at a bar in Austin and think ‘ _Hmm_.’ So Skye let Simmons’ apparent appreciation go to her head a bit, she’d admit it. Her ego was feeling repaired some, until a very curious Simmons asked Bobbi whether _she’d_ ever had her hair in that particular style.

_As sure as I am that would be a sight to see, kind of having a crisis here._

“Everything okay?”

Skye looked up to see Coulson, who looked concerned. And _something_.

“Yeah, fine, just being melodramatic.” Standing up, Skye wandered to the windows, catching her reflection in one. “It’s not too bad,” she said, running a hand through it, mussing it up a bit. “Makes me look kinda…” Skye trailed off, turning to see if the director would fill in the blank.

He blinked innocently.

“Right. Why did you want me to stop by again?”

Coulson seemed startled that she had asked him that question, as if he had forgotten why in the first place. “Yes, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t injured, and you’re ready to follow up with the bird’s owner tomorrow?”

Skye nodded. The team wasn’t quite up to speed with their side project. They knew that the crystals had been released into the ocean, and that some had caused people (or animals) to transform. They just knew about the _occasional_ instance. The obvious ones, like a mutated bird melting mailboxes. The rest was kept strictly between Skye and Coulson, including their follow up investigations with the families or neighbors, trying to suss out the source of the crystals and whether or not anyone nearby had been affected.

“Another road trip? Wouldn’t miss it,” Skye replied, and Coulson nodded.

“Excellent, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, I’m dismissed. Skye sent a little mock salute, before running a hand through her hair yet again and walking out the door.

***

Phil Coulson had a problem.

Not necessarily a problem, more like an inconvenience. He liked to think of himself as the ‘cool under pressure’ type, someone not easily caught off guard or distracted.

But Skye’s hair.

It was almost an adolescent fascination, really, but it took all he had to not stop and stare at it every few minutes. Pathetic, but true. Everyone in existence knew that he had a sort of soft spot when it came to Skye, but since things had calmed down and there were fewer opportunities for them to get split up/almost killed lately, those feelings had become, he liked to think, less apparent. They still spoke more often than most other agents, but they were working on the Inhumans project. Sometimes they would go on “road trips,” as Skye had dubbed them, for said project. But again, professional circumstances.

 _There is no professional circumstance for this,_ he thought ruefully, giving in and taking a quick look at Skye as she drove. With his prosthetic he didn't need her to drive anymore, but taking away the privilege seemed rude, so now they took turns. Sure enough, her hair was blowing in the breeze in a way that--

“Everything okay Boss?” Skye looked at him out of the corner of her eye, reflexively reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Then she sighed, dropping it.

“Does it get in your face?” He asked bluntly, figuring a half-truth ( _‘I was concerned about the way your new hair might be interfering with your vision,_ ’) was better than a full lie (‘ _I was just_...’ he had nothing.)

“Does yours?” She replied, then rolled her eyes at herself. “It’s fine, just might need to invest in bobby pins or something.”

He thought about figuring out what Maria Hill had done with her hair when it was that short, but that, of course, brought him back to his initial problem. Was it a coincidence that his (very brief) relationship (of sorts) with Commander Hill took place when she herself had a similar haircut?

It was strange, because it wasn’t as if he had exclusively dated women with short hair. In fact, it was basically the opposite.

But there was just something about it…

Phil wasn’t trying to kid himself, his preoccupation with Skye’s appearance (and general being) was nothing new. He’d always had a _thing_ for strong women, if something so common sense could be considered _a thing_. Working in SHIELD, he met a lot of strong, confident, capable women, was surrounded by them almost daily. It wasn’t exactly a novelty. But something about Skye’s natural leadership ability, her drive, and the skills she’d picked up, both Inhuman and not…

He was a little smitten from the get go.

_But this, this might be too much._

When she showed up in his office one morning with those bangs, that was jarring enough. It was the first time he’d seen her in ages, and they were still in their not-quite-fighting-but-not-as-close-as-usual phase during his carving period. Then she waltzes in with her combat suit and her hair up and those dark, blunt bangs sitting over her eyes, and suddenly he’s not quite sure what she’s saying to him. The long, face-framing waves were gone, replaced with something that was somehow simultaneously no-nonsense and never quite completely neat. Short locks of hair were overlapping messily, like she had just rappelled down a building or pulled off a motorcycle helmet which, depending on if he could remember the mission, she may well have done.

Her eyes were the best part. Skye always had startlingly bright, striking eyes, but the haircut was like holding a frame over them, invisible arrows inviting you in to take a look. Did he tell her any of this? Of course not, he handed her a file and said, ‘ _Thanks, that will be all_ ,’ before banging his head against his desk.

By the time they were on good terms again she’d had them for months and it was too late to say anything.

Of course, it had only been a day since her new haircut, but his pressing concern with that was _what_ _exactly_ would he say? And when? It seemed like he had already missed his opportunity for an organic compliment, and he feared that saying something now would either seem too much like he’s reassuring her, trying too hard to tell her that it isn’t terrible, or give away the fact that he was still thinking about it, and _my god when did I become 15 again?_

So, it appeared he was back to the ‘say nothing’ approach, until an opportunity presented itself.

“Ugh,” Skye muttered, looking in the rearview mirror.

“Is someone following us?” Coulson looked back discreetly, but didn’t see anything amiss.

“No, I just caught sight of myself for a second, I look like a 15-year-old boy.”

“No you don’t,” Coulson said reassuringly. And nothing else.

“Here we are,” Skye replied, pulling the car into a parking space.

Baby steps. At least Skye didn’t seem to notice anything.

***

 _What is his deal?_ Don’t get her wrong, Skye’s main focus was always the mission at hand. But as they arrived back at the Playground, she gave herself fully over to the frustration that was working with Phil Coulson lately. _And by ‘lately’ I mean ‘since I had to chop all my hair off.’_

At first she wondered if his hyper-professional demeanor was because this family seemed so nervous, and dealing with a powered animal was pretty new. But it was the same on the ride there, and the ride back. Short answers, barely looking at her, distracted. Maybe she was being overly sensitive, but the ‘barely looking at her’ part was the most distressing. Skye didn’t demand all eyes be on her at all times, and frankly she didn’t want people blatantly staring at her either. But give a girl a break, she just went through a fairly traumatic haircut, don’t treat her like Medusa.

 _Maybe he’s trying to help_ , she reasoned. Maybe he figured she didn’t want people making a big deal, so he just went overkill with _not_ noticing. The two of them split up upon arrival, which was fine with her because she worried that being around Coulson any longer would result in her shaking him and yelling ‘Look at me!’ and no one needed that right now. As the director headed up to his office Skye made her way to the lounge, where she found Bobbi and Mack playing cards.

“Hey there. What are we working on, gauging probability with some Blackjack? Poker for strategy and bluffing?”

“Go Fish,” Mack replied, looking over his cards. “Entertainment.”

“Want to play?” Bobbi asked, but Skye shook her head and sat on the couch next to Mack. Bobbi shrugged, but caught a glimpse of Skye’s face and paused. “Everything okay?” Skye waved her away, but Mack put his cards on the table.

“Still getting used to the haircut, GI Jane?” Skye smirked at the nickname, definitely not the worst of the bunch.

“I mean, I’m fine with it. What’s done is done, it grows back, plus it’s not a terrible look,” she admitted, running a hand through said hair.

“No, _some people_ certainly don’t think so,” Bobbi muttered, sly. Skye rolled her eyes, but laughed.

“Yeah, you’re more than welcome to join in the fun,” she remarked, and Bobbi lifted her beer in a ‘cheers’ motion. “I don’t think Simmons would ever look at _me_ again.” The other woman shrugged, not dignifying Skye with a direct response.  

Mack rolled his eyes, then looked at the door. “I think we’ve spent enough time talking about hair in here. This man agrees with me, don’t you sir?”

Skye and Bobbi looked up to see Coulson who paused, caught in the doorway. He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Skye and Bobbi laughed quietly while Mack helplessly shrugged. The mood was light, so imagine Skye’s annoyance when Coulson looked anywhere but at her yet again. Moving to the mini-fridge to grab a beer, Skye tried to hide her irritation. The director made small talk with the other two agents before quickly leaving, and Skye flopped on the couch again.

“God, he’s worse than Simmons,” Bobbi said, half to herself. Skye frowned.

“What are you talking about? Simmons won’t _stop_ staring at me, not that I mind,” she teased, and then ducked as Bobbi threw a pillow at her head. _Yeah, like I’m the obstacle there._ “Seriously, Coulson is so not into it, I think it weirds him out or something.”

That was something she had considered, but tried not to put too much thought into. Coulson seemed like the last person to get hung up on a haircut, but she had to wonder. Considering their...whatever their relationship was, did that affect the way he looked at it? If, by some miracle, the attraction she felt for him was somehow mutual (because Skye refused to believe she would waste so much time not being with him if that was indeed a possibility,) was it negatively impacted by her new look?

 _‘Wah, what if he doesn’t think I’m pretty anymore?’_ She nearly scoffed at herself.

Okay, so she may not be the imposing Amazon Bobbi would probably be with the same cut, but Skye liked to think she had sort of an Audrey Hepburn thing going on. _If Audrey Hepburn ever played a spy fighting the Nazis._

She looked over to Mack and Bobbi, who had been weirdly silent. “What?” Her eyes narrowed as she watched the two of them make eye contact, then simultaneously look down at their cards. “Oh, so  _now_ you practice your poker face?”

“Have any sevens?” Mack asked.

“Go fish.”

“Come on,” Skye groaned, standing up and leaving the room. Storming down the hall she almost fell backward as Coulson rounded a corner, practically knocking her over.

“Oh!” He grabbed Skye’s arm to steady her, but she was already fired up so she pulled away quickly.

“What’s your problem?” She demanded, and saw Coulson’s eyes widen.

“Excuse me?” His brow furrowed as he regained his composure, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her. But then! He made a face, looking down the hall behind her. Skye nearly growled, pushing past him to head to her bunk. Or to the gym for a workout. Anything really, anything but continuing to watch him avoid looking at her stupid hair.

“Skye?” She heard him call after her, but kept walking. “Skye, wait a second. _Agent_.” His voice became serious, taking on that ‘director tone’ she hated, so Skye stopped. She could hear Coulson walking over, but she continued to just stare down the hall, watching the lab techs walking by pretend to be busy.

“What was all that about?” Coulson asked, dropping any professional pretenses. She could see a muscle working in his jaw, he was clearly pissed and, apparently, caught off guard.

 _Does he not even realize?_ He _had_ to. There was no way Coulson thought he was acting normal. Both of them were aware that the only time he wouldn’t look at her was when--

“Are you hiding something from me?” She couldn’t believe it took her that long to realize it, but the hair had been such a distracting variable. Maybe it had nothing to do with her appearance at all, the timing just threw her off.

“What?” Coulson looked surprised, but also nervous? “Of course not,” he argued, and she saw him look off to the side, probably wondering how much of a scene they were making. But really, arguing publicly was nothing new for them, the other agents could deal.

“Please, stop bullshitting me and be honest,” Skye pleaded, and she could see Coulson becoming conflicted.

“Come here,” he said quietly, ushering her into a small room a bit down the hall. “Why do you think I’m hiding something from you?” He asked, turning to face her after closing the door. Coulson crossed his arms, projecting defiance, but he looked more curious than angry.

“You won’t even look at me,” Skye admitted quietly, feeling approximately two feet tall and pathetic, hearing herself say it out loud. “And I thought it was because of _this_ , which, I know isn’t my best look,” she pointed at her hair, agitated, noticing Coulson’s eyes widen at the mention. “But I guess I’m just realizing this isn’t exactly the first time you shut me out, and those other times have pretty much just one thing in common, so…” She trailed off, not looking at him this time.

The pair of arms wrapping around her were both surprising and not, and despite her concerns that it might just be a conciliatory gesture, she found herself returning the embrace.

“It’s not that,” Coulson murmured in her ear, and she squeezed tighter just out of hope he was telling the truth. “It’s not that I’m lying to you, and it’s not--” he actually threaded his hand through her hair then.

“It’s not?” Skye asked, feeling a bit stupid. But also annoyed still. “Then what’s your deal?”

Coulson sighed, and his hand moved over the back of her head, his nails now gently raking through the short strands on the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and nothing else. And Skye had to come to terms with the fact that that was the only answer she would likely get. She squeezed tighter.

***

Phil had messed up.

He really messed up and had actually begun to wonder if this was it.

_I’m going to die._

He probably should have been more frightened than annoyed, but he had to adapt to near-death situations so many times his reactions were a little off. He and Dr. Garner had talked about it a few times. It was “normal,” given the circumstances. But watching the rest of the bridge begin to go down in flames, he was beginning to question just how normal it was.

“ _Coulson_ ,” May called over the radio. “ _Coulson do you copy?_ ”

“Yeah May, it’s not looking too good right now.” Pushing himself up a bit, Coulson looked over the piece of concrete he’d been leaning his back against. Flaming, collapsing bridge behind him, a long, deadly fall to shallow water in front.

“ _Hang in there, we’ll send someone to_ \--”

“You know that’s not going to happen,” Coulson said, resigned. The jets they’d brought to the area were all gunned down, the pilots themselves barely getting out alive.

“ _Phil_ \--”

“May, it’s fine,” he told her, weirdly calm. He wondered if he might not have shell shock, his ears still ringing from the initial explosion. He could feel blood dripping from at least one, and the crash as debris fell against the rocks below echoed in his head. Leaning back against the concrete, he closed his eyes, dropping his walkie. It was for the best, he didn’t want May to hear it.

 _If she even could over that noise_. A loud whirring caused his brow to furrow; he wasn’t sure if it was because of his ears or the destruction around him. His hair began to whip around his face, and Coulson wondered vaguely if he had started falling.

“ _Hey_!”

Phil’s eyes snapped open. Floating in the air in front of him was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And a flying car.

“Coulson, get in!” Skye yelled over the din, pulling the car as close to him as possible. For some reason all he could do was stare. "Get in the car, please!" Not receiving a proper answer, Skye’s face went from concern, to alarm and then faded away to a controlled calm before his eyes.

Unbuckling her seatbelt (‘ _Don’t do tha_ t!’ he thought in a panic, but couldn’t verbalize,) Skye opened her door, reaching a hand out to him.

“Get in the car, solider.”

Never one to disobey an order (okay, that’s not entirely honest,) Coulson stood shakily and took the offered hand. Before he could even think she pulled him into the car, scooting back into the passenger seat as she dragged him in the drivers’ side, she yelled into his damaged ears. “Do you still know how to drive this thing?”

Wincing in both pain and irritation, Phil let his body go into autopilot, directing Lola away from the bridge sharply. “Close your door, close your door!” Skye screamed, and he was curious where the calm, cool, collected Skye from a minute ago went. It appeared as though her own adrenaline had caught up with her, whereas he was still in a self-protecting fog that prevented him from fully understanding what the hell just happened. It was particularly helpful as the remainder of the bridge collapsed, mere seconds after they escaped.

Closing his door, Phil drove Lola carefully away, landing on a small patch of beach safely hidden from view of the bridge.

“Jesus Christ,” Skye moaned next to him, holding her head. Her hands dug into her hair, small tufts of it peeking from between her fingers. “What the hell were you thinking, Coulson? Why didn’t you evacuate earlier, or--”

“I love it.”

Skye stopped, pulling her hands free from her hair. Some rogue strands stuck up a bit. “What?”

“Your hair,” Phil told her bluntly, elaborating even as she stared at him like he was a crazy person. “I love it, but I didn’t say anything because I thought what I had to say was inappropriate.” Skye’s eyes just widened, and although he realized he was rambling, and possibly had a head injury, he couldn’t stop. “But I should have told you, because I think it looks great. Really, _really_ great, like a--” He would have continued, but Skye chose that moment to practically throw herself over the center console and plant her lips on his. Phil wasted no time, steadying her with one hand on her ribs, the other tangling itself in her hair.

It didn’t matter that Skye was probably putting too much of her weight on him, and the position was fairly uncomfortable and precarious, because one minute he thought he was going to die, and now he was sitting in Lola with Skye’s tongue basically down his throat. Pulling away just enough to bury his face in the crook of her neck, Phil breathed her in, sighing heavily.

“Kiss me there,” Skye instructed, and he listened dutifully, placing a line of kisses down her neck as Skye's hand moved to his thigh. She missed though, and the unexpected pressure on his groin combined with the fact that she was essentially resting her body weight on him caused him to let out a loud groan. Planting her hands on his shoulders Skye scooted back a bit, so her upper body was no longer dangling over the console. Phil leaned forward to follow her, but was stopped short by his seatbelt.

 _I don’t remember_ … Did Skye buckle his seatbelt? Looking up, he saw her watching him, contemplative.

“Hold on, so you’re telling me that all this time I was freaking out about you barely looking at me, when really it was all because my hair made you think ‘inappropriate’ things?” Her smirk was so big he was almost inclined to say she was wrong, but he couldn’t. He just nodded.

“Oh my god, you really are worse than Simmons.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Skye ignored him, removing her shoulder harness and gloves. “I sent May a text while you landed. They’ll be here in about fifteen minutes,” she told him. “So make em count, soldier.”

“Yes ma’am,” Coulson replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing over the console to her seat.


End file.
